Complicity
by Andressa Matos
Summary: "The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return." He has spent the last 25 years learning how to love her, now it is time to conjugate the verb in the passive voice. Huddy, of course. A two-shot hiatus fix. Enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I unfortunately own nothing but my deranged mind and my exquisite taste. House MD belongs to David Shore and FOX.

**Hail Huddy people! Happy days, huh? Yeah, I know! :D I guess that's what Jesus meant by the "Ask and thou shall receive" thingy, idk… Anyway, this hiatus is killing me so I can only imagine how you guys must feel with so much time on your hands, so little new Fanfiction to read and absolutely nothing new to watch, so I humbly bring you a piece I have written for a while now, properly adapted to our show's recent happenings. I hope you like it. **

**Aw, and a small warning: this is unbeta-d. Yeah, bummer. Thing is, since Brazil was not colonized by the British – thank you **_**so much**_**, Portugal! – English is not my first language, so severe Grammar injuries are expected to reduce the pleasure of your reading. I'm sorry about this collateral damage, but this is also a late Christmas present to my beloved beta who really deserves to enjoy her time off and I didn't think you guys would be interested in waiting, so deal with my foreign nonsense like big boys and girls already! LOL**

**Dedicatory time now… This is to B, my number one friend and reader. Just like no crazy procedures can be done in PPTH without Cuddy's consent, nothing written by Andressa Matos can be published without being previously read by Bridgette Windham. Your input is a **_**sine qua non**_** condition for me honey. Lobe Ya Tonz. **

**Andie. **

"_**These wounds won't seem to heal**_

_**This pain is just too real**_

_**There's just too much that time cannot erase."**_

"_**My Immortal**_**" By Evanescence**

_**Complicity – Part I**_

The cold wind penetrated easily through the thick Brazilian leather of his motorcycle jacket, spiking the hair that covered his arms and making him shiver. The throbbing on his right leg immediately turned into sharp daggers mercilessly slashing his quadriceps as the unusually chilly autumn breeze surpassed the protective warmness of his scruffy Levi's denim. A brilliant red light shone above reflecting itself on his helmet, and it took his recently prudent brain a couple of seconds to refrain his hand from pressing on the accelerator and speeding up along the wet desert avenue.

Instead, he slowed down the two-wheel vehicle smoothly until it stopped before the traffic light. His subconscious had been doing a great job blocking House from taking stupid and unnecessary risks since the same hand that had signed those adoption papers a few weeks earlier got to feel an almost imperceptible yet miraculous flutter on Lisa's belly, the fruit of the previously unknown noble and pure portion of his being that patiently grew in the womb of the one woman he ever loved.

The work day had been extenuating as the two previous ones but, as awkward as it might sound, solving the puzzle and diagnosing the four-year-old had not had the usual healing effect on House, providing the Sherlock Holmes kind of high capable of dissolving the fatigue that had been consuming his body after over sixty hours of hard work. It was passed 3 a.m. when the lab results confirmed his differential and the ducklings hopelessly started Katie on the palliative treatment, unable as they were to revoke her premature death sentence.

As much as he loved Cuddy, House definitely did not share her obsession with guilt. It had not been his fault and he knew it. The patient's lethal condition was already too advanced when she was admitted in PPTH and the time spent on diagnosing her had been very reasonable regarding the illness' complexity. His work had been successfully done as usual; there was no doubt about it. Surprisingly, this time he had been the one politely thanked after giving the bad news to the devastated parents, which granted him the chance to experience how Wilson felt on a daily basis dealing with his cancer patients. A hypocrite son of a bitch, that is how he felt, a punch right in the face way more appealing than reading the sincere gratitude in the young couple's faces.

The whole team had already left for the night, except for Foreman. Greg House's eternal apprentice had sent a smokin' hot girlfriend home alone just to start scribbling a brand new article about what would probably be called "the brand new achievement of PPTH's diagnostic team". The young neurologist seemed oddly enthusiastic about wasting a big part of his free time on struggling to desiccate House's train of thought into a well-versed dummies version only to prove his mentor once more as the best diagnostician in the country. _And he claims he doesn't want to become me_, House thought to himself as he watched his pupil typing in genuine amazement, clearly numbed by the diagnostic high he had learned to wholeheartedly enjoy.

The world must have been screwed up for good this time, but House could not help but envy Foreman's lack of care as himself felt incapable of erasing from his mind the hazel sparkle of the little brunette's eyes and how rapidly it had vanished since the first time he met her and she introduced him to her imaginary friend. The golden member of Oprah's official fan club in New Jersey, James Wilson would surely come up with a series of mushy theories to explain why this kid had tumbled down Greg House's assiness wall as a bunch of Latin immigrants invading US, but the truth was that Mrs. Winfrey would not be interested on producing a show with such predictable outcome. Katie Wilder was just a painful reminder of what life can generously give to somebody when they do not even know if they are interested and then take it away once living without it has become no longer possible.

House would not bear losing either of his children. Not the genetically unrelated four-year-old that filled his life with joy and effortlessly won him over just when he thought her to be an insurmountable obstacle between him and her mother, and surely not her baby brother that was on the way and moved against his palm every single night preparing daddy for his arrival. Rachel was also his now; he was not giving her up. Not after being vomited all over or staying awake countless nights fighting an unbreakable fever or a recurring nightmare. Not after being obliged to attend tea parties with a bunch of uptight Barbies and come up with fifteen different voices to do justice to some of Brother Grimms tales. Not after being adopted as a father when her innocent lips pronounced that overwhelming three-letter word with an equally petrifying naturalness and captivated his damaged heart for good, melting whatever ice stubbornly remained inside. From that day on, Cuddy had promised him never to take the kid away, even if they eventually split, and he sure as hell was not allowing death to pitch in either. Rachel Natalie Cuddy House was fated to be nauseatingly happy and die at the age of 80.

A little girl condemned to a premature agonizing death was no reason to celebrate whatsoever, so there was no point on calling out the night comfortably laid on his ergonomic chair listening to jazz, sipping cheap bourbon and feeling good about himself. For the first time in years, Greg House golden rules of self-preservation had been royally broken as he could not help but truly care for a patient, and now he found himself irrevocably trapped in another desolating memory. Life had just presented itself as it actually was, cruel, meaningless and unfair, and there was nothing left for him but closing himself on his safe healing shell to lick his wounds. For the first time in over a decade he had something precious to come home to; his leg hurt, his heart ached, he needed her.

His empty and nauseated stomach had already started to churn, a pleasant side effect of the excruciating pain that afflicted his damaged muscle and he struggled to focus on the road and not on the cool rain that soaked him to the bone as his motorcycle entered her street, breaking the sacred silence of the night. Five minutes later, House limped into Cuddy's place, as quietly as possible not to wake her up, and dragged himself down the hall and into her bathroom, wincing in pain while clumsily taking of each damp piece of garment, which proceeded on forming a water trail on the dark wooden floor.

After forty something years sleeping by herself on empty spacious beds, Cuddy had become spoiled way too quickly in the last few months by the delightful presence of an Hugo Boss smelling body warming up the flannel blankets and lulling her to sleep every night with his steady breathing. Her head had not taken too long to get used to resting on House's brawny yet tender chest, and her scalp yearned to be soothingly massaged by his slender fingers that entangled themselves in her ebony curls. Despite his considerate effort on quietly tiptoeing around the house, she was immediately awakened by the time his wet pair of navy blue Nike Air trespassed the front door's threshold. Yawning and peeking at the clock over the nightstand, she switched the lampshade on and listened closely as he got in the bathroom and the water started to run on the bathtub.

The pain was still pungent and he unconsciously rubbed his thigh with violence, desperate to relieve the lacerating sensation as the hot steamy water filled the bathtub and involved his shuddering body. And it was this sorrowful scenario, Gregory House nearly crying in agony which instantaneously broke Cuddy's heart as she entered the bathroom and saw the love of her life abandoned in his misery. Pregnancy hormones kicking in, her eyes filled themselves with tears and her always regretful mind blamed herself for all the dozens of torturous moments like that one he had gone through alone in his apartment, contorting himself in pain with nobody around to care for him.

Her soul was about to immerse itself in guilt when a sudden and soft movement inside of her womb pulled back to reality. She could not help but wonder how her little boy had sensed his daddy needed assistance, but the impatience of his fluttering probably indicated Gabriel House did not see any use on his mommy reflecting about a ten-year-old culpability and causing him unnecessary distress instead of actually doing something useful to help.

Shoving the dark thoughts and memories to the back of her head, Cuddy took a deep breath and swallowed the recently formed lump inside of her throat before approaching the bathtub and kneeling beside it to touch his sweaty face, saying softly "Greg, it's ok, I'm here."

His eyelids lifted in surprise. After so many years of loneliness, his mind still had some trouble getting used to the fact he had finally found someone both stupid and brave enough to share his disgrace. Baby blue locked with smoky blue, and he wondered how was possible that such a huge amount of hope could fit in those tiny pair of irises. He did not have any intention to actually find the answer to that question though, for there was no point on trying to explain the unexplainable or measure the immeasurable. An amazing pair of jades sparkled full of genuine love for him, and somehow he knew everything would be fine as long as it kept infusing strength in his shattered spirit. "I didn't mean to wake you up" he indirectly apologized, struggling to regain composure not to freak her out.

"I was not sleeping…" she lied, trying her best not to look excessively worried. The last thing she needed was him misinterpreting her solidarity and preoccupation as pity. She knew better. "Pain's gotten worse?" Cuddy inquired in fake casualty, praying to God he would not notice she was about to break apart.

"It's wearing off, I just need more Ibuprofen." Greg replied with unintentional asperity and defensiveness, regret immediately kicking in and reminding him why he had always put a lot of effort into pushing people away; he was physically incapable of being nice "Can you bring me my pills? I have a bottle of it in…" he started and paused to inhale deeply, closing his eyes as another sharp stab impaled his quadriceps and a grimace deformed his features "… my jacket's pocket."

With a silent nod, Cuddy hurried out the bathroom and went for the half-full tiny white bottle of non-narcotics. Her eyes scanned the colorful label and part of her felt angry at the medicine ineffectiveness. It was essentially naïve and hypocritical to expect a patient in severe chronic pain to have a good quality of life without potent painkillers. It was like prescribing herbal tea to gastroenteritis or meditation for migraines. It was preposterous. Still, in the lack of a good emergency physical therapy session, Ibuprofen was all she could count on in the moment. The forbidden V word was never an option.

Back to House's side, Cuddy handed him the childproof medication case and waited for him to open it up and shove half a dozen pills inside of his mouth. She was surprised, though, by the cracking sound of plastic slamming against tile three seconds later, as the object was thrown against the wall by an infuriated House. "Useless! This shit is useless!" House shouted; desperation invincibly turning into anger as his clenched fists punched the water with violence, splashing it out of the bathtub.

Cuddy did not know if Rachel's absence had been one of the reasons behind House's abnormally unrepressed reaction, but she was surely thankful that her little girl had been picked up that afternoon to spend the weekend with her aunt Lucinda and her cousins at the Hamptons. House had never as much as elevated his tone in the presence of their daughter, let go loudly shrieking in rage in awareness she was asleep in the other room.

Cuddy herself had no idea how she had just been able to cheat her own reflexes and stay confidently in place despite his intimidating outburst; the normal reaction would have been to flinch in response to his suddenly aggressive behavior. Maybe the certainty that House would never physically hurt her was strong enough to beat her own instincts of self-preservation. Her hand, however, disobeyed her brain's bravery determination and rested protectively on her bulge belly, maternal instinct too powerful to be shut down by any sense of trust.

Her gesture did not go unnoticed by his lynx eyes, and his face automatically softened in repent as he asked concernedly "Oh my God Lise, I'm… I'm sorry… Are you okay?"

His wet hand joined hers on her womb, and his frightened stare silently begged her for an affirmative answer. Her free hand moved up to caress his face and he exhaled in relief. "Greg, you know I can't give you anything else for the pain…" she reasoned, feeling a little disappointed as he automatically withdrew his hand from hers in frustration.

"But it hurts too much, Lise, I…" House whimpered in pain, hand back to the frenetic useless scrubbing "Morphine, give me a shot of morphine…" he cried out, his urgent plea sadly echoing on the bathroom walls and bringing her to tears of hopelessness.

There was nothing left for her to do but cradle him in her arms, and that is what she did, without any hesitation, getting in the bathtub all dressed up and holding him against her chest for several minutes. Getting herself together and wiping away her weep, she gently touched his face "Honey, Greg, look at me!" she called pleadingly "Let me help you, love, please, let me do this…"

He would gladly let her do that; abandoning himself in her care and love was everything he had ever dreamed of. Nodding slightly, he felt her velvet lips brushing a feather kiss on his forehead before she stood up and got out of her bathtub to reach for the sponge and soap above the sink. She looked lovely on that wet baby pink nightgown that hugged her now more sinuous curves, the five-month belly showing off beautifully, against all odds, majestically proving science wrong. Watching Cuddy's pregnancy progressing had been way more fascinating than any of the impossible medical puzzles he had ever faced with in his successful career.

She ran the sponge through his robust body with deliberation, the sweet chamomile scent of her soap lingering in the air. His eyelids dropped and his head fell back, the tenderness of her movements washing away the tension that had been enslaving his body. The discomfort on his leg had already started to subside when she finished rinsing his hair. "Can you stand up?" she inquired, offering her small hand to help him rise.

Her tiny shoulders gave him the support and balance he needed to get to the bedroom, each torturous step bringing him closer to the coziness of their bed. His mind traveled back in time, flashbacking the innumerous occasions in the last decade when he had dragged himself through a similar pathway with nothing else to lean on but a cold piece of wood. A few feet left to their goal, he heard her whispering in reassurance "We're almost there, honey, just a bit more…" the jades ever so bright, the flashy smile lightening the room; that alone was worth a whole life of waiting.

House could not wait for Cuddy to hand him a pair of boxers before ripping out the soaking robe and throwing himself in bed, completely naked. The pain was back in full force thanks to the brief walking, and all he wished was to fall into oblivion as soon as possible. She quickly changed into a dry pair of pajamas and went back for him, pulling the covers from underneath his body and tucking him in, adding an extra blanket just to be safe.

In normal conditions he would have surely mocked her for using some camphor oil on his leg but House seemed to truly enjoy the refreshing sensation once she spilled a generous amount of the liquid on the skin around his scar and started rubbing the damaged muscle vigorously. Cuddy proceeded on sticking her fingers into his thigh and pressing hard, working on the tension knots while watching him closely. His severe expression gradually relaxed into a laid-back one and that familiar charming half-grin adorned his lips when he expressed his approval jokingly "Well, I guess I can finally fire that unattractive physical therapist you recommended…"

Giggling at his flattering compliment, she did not quite believed it at first, well aware of the amateurish of her performance which could obviously not compete with a professional's. However, a physical evidence of his approval gave her an incontestable proof of how much he had been appreciating her effort.

Distracted by Cuddy's relaxing massage, House failed to notice his erection until he felt her hand suddenly abandon his leg and move left to his turgid organ, grabbing it gently and sliding up and down, a moan of pleasure instantaneously leaving his lips. The blessed and belated relief brought by her rubbing after so much agony had caused him to harden, and it was not necessary to be a doctor to know there is no more efficient way to reduce a male's tension. "Geez, Lise, aw", he mumbled in excitement, opening his eyes slightly just to let them shut again, his hand meeting hers and fixing her pace.

The lust printed on House's features and the sensual groaning his mouth failed on retaining were turning Cuddy on, her juices longer built up between her legs. She wanted nothing but to make sweet love to her man, giving him the pleasure he needed and satisfying herself altogether, but the doctor in her could never be silenced. She knew an intercourse then was not advisable, she would end up hurting him in the process. It was not the time for getting caught up in lust; that night was about him, his needs.

Pressing her thumb over the head of his fully erect cock, Cuddy felt thick pre cum abandon its canal. He was very close. She could feel his member throbbing under her touch, his body squirming with the sweet torture brought by every wave of pleasure that struck his senses. House was completely at her mercy, surrendered to her caresses, totally oblivious to the world, and that was the sexiest view that her eyes had ever caught.

Without messing up her rhythm, she admired his complexion contorting in sexual bliss. The desire now throbbing in her core was hard to control, attracting her to merge with him as strong and powerful magnet. Riding him was definitely not an option in these fragile circumstances, but kissing him was not something she needed to resist, or had ever been able to. Covering his half-parted lips with hers, Cuddy ran her tongue over his lower lip tentatively, and felt him granting her all the access she demanded. House always praised her kissing skills, failing to conceal that subtle and unconscious moan of approval that reverberated in his throat every time she tasted him hungrily, exploring every corner of his mouth with her expert tongue.

That tingling sensation built on his balls and spidered on a tormented slow speed from the root to the extremity of his manhood. Bucking his hips up on a reflex, House let his hands slip into Cuddy's pajama top to cup her swollen breasts a little bit too forcefully, causing her to groan in response, the slight pain turning her on even more. Lying across his chest and moving right to assault his neck, Cuddy rubbed herself against his good leg for her own benefit and increased her hand movements to drive him wilder.

Sucking and nipping on the tender skin to leave her possessive mark, she boosted him by licking and biting on his earlobe "Cum for me, love, let it go…" House's body shuddered violently at the command, his eyes rolling on the back of his head as his heart missed a couple of beats. His view blanked as a powerful orgasm washed over him and he milked intensely in her hands, male snarl and profanity breaking the silence in the room. Little by little, Cuddy observed House ride and descend from his high and immediately surrender to sleep, amazement and female proud soothing her ego and diverting her attention from her own un-sated desire.

Kissing his sweaty forehead, she fondled his grey thin hair and inhaled his delicious male scent. "Good night, my love" she whispered in his ear, feeling good about herself like never before for succeeding on the most important mission of her life, at least for that night. The war against his pain was far from ending but she had just won that battle and he was asleep now, free from the merciless throes, in peace.

Eventually her hand reached for the lampshade and switched it off, her conditioned head finding its usual spot on his chest. Cuddy closed his eyes and started to silently pray for the day about to start to be better when the sweetest good night of all came in the form of a soft yet non-ignorable kick, making her melt like butter on a hot toast. "Good night, my angel…" she responded in her most loving tone, stroking her growing miracle and drifting off to sleep.

"_**When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears**_

_**When you screamed I'd fight away all of your fears**_

_**And I held your hand through all of these years**_

_**And you still have all of me."**_

_**End of Part I**_

_**Reviews are love, especially the long, thoughtful, positive ones... LOL! Just kidding. Speak your mind if you feel like it and make us both happy. :D**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I unfortunately own nothing but my deranged mind and my exquisite taste. House MD belongs to David Shore and FOX.

**First of all, a Happy 2011 to you all, readers of my heart. I do hope you have enjoyed New Year's Eve and wish you the best luck on writing the pages of this brand new blank book we just got graced with. It's time to correct the old mistakes and make some new ones. Who's excited? I know I am! **

**As promised, here it is the second part of this unpretentious tale. Thank you so much for the lovely and generous reviews – my flawed English is obnoxiously flattered! – as well as the silent support brought by those who marked this as their favorite/story alert. I know your account only has space for the best guys. **

**Andie.**

"_**She lifts her skirt up to her knees**_

_**Walks through the garden rows with her bare feet laughing **_

_**I never learned to count my blessings**_

_**I choose instead to dwell in my disasters**_

_**I walk on down the hill through grass grown tall and brown and still it's hard somehow to let go of my pain**_

_**On past the busted back of that old and rusted Cadillac that sinks into this field collecting rain**_

_**Will I always feel this way?**_

_**So empty, so estranged…"**_

"_**Empty" – Ray LaMontagne**_

_**Complicity – part II**_

His blood pulsated strongly in his jugular and her turgid lips could feel his heartbeat as they touched the balmy skin of his neck and planted small kisses over the light purple bruises fruit of her ministrations in the previous night. Cuddy's eyelids gave up for a couple of seconds lost in the sensation of proximity. Despite the magnitude of evolutionary process, human being would never be able to negate their animal portion, and that was one of those moments one could wisely appreciate the blessing of having such instincts. She would just stay there and lose herself in his warmth, and scent, and snore, and taste, and beauty a little while longer.

After an unusually restful night of sleep, House had started to stir some minutes ago, but his senses seemed to refuse being dragged back into consciousness as his naked body still laid comfortably abandoned in the mattress in all its gorgeousness. Getting all the benefit from this precious unawareness, Cuddy coddled him in every possible way, worshipping his body and displaying all the affection she strived to keep under control in his austere presence. Her love for him did not share the same subtlety of his love for her, and it was hard enough to hold her tongue and suppress the three little words not to freak him out more than necessary.

Cuddy brushed small kisses under his right ear and nuzzled his neck breathing him in when House's hoarse and sleepy voice graced her with his first witty remark of the day "Taking advantage of a crippled and unconscious middle-aged diagnostician, Dr. Cuddy? I'm sure this is illegal in some states…"

She smiled and bit his earlobe ever so gently before replying between kisses "No, if the victim consents, it's not…" And then, moving left to face him, their mouths no more than two inches apart, she asked seductively "Do I get your consent, Dr. House?"

His answer was silent and vehement, as he leaned forward and captured her lips in an unhurried peck, tasting the coffee that still lingered in her lips and breath before lying back on the pillow, lazily. Cuddy took in his figure observantly, still debating whether to ask how he was feeling or bringing up the night before. He looked well-rested, peaceful, no purple bags under her beloved aquamarines… No frantic muscle-rubbing, no pain distorting his features… Grey disheveled tufts, square stubble jaw, bared chest, and those pomegranate lips, _oh so kissable_…

Cuddy continued to study House closely for a minute or two before he raised his right hand to feel her face ever so delicately, slender pianist fingers contouring her features as a blind person who tried to memorize an unknown face. She leaned onto his touch for a while, delighting herself in the adoration that sparkled in baby blue immensity, and a rhetorical and out-of-habit question escaped her mouth and broke the sacred silence between them before her mind could censor it "What?"

It was hard to believe he was actually awake. Being stirred up to his senses after a merciful night of restful blackout by the unmistakable and mouthwatering scent exhaled by her pores just to taste a mix of coffee and passion on her velvet lips was surreal enough. The sensorial right side of his brain already worked frantically to convince the left incredulous one of the veracity of that moment while his lips covered hers, but the vista his lynx eyes captured after reopening from the kiss was way too angelical to be trusted. No human being could be that stunning, it was against the laws of nature. And, assuming that such a gorgeous female was indeed real and made of flesh and bones, she could not be his. No way did she dedicate the precious moments of her unlikely existence caring about a physically and emotionally crippled mortal like him. No. That would mean pretty much the death of logic. And House could not live in a reason-free world. _Could he?_

Her gaze was full of scrutiny. For a moment he feared she would be able to read his every thought; there must be a pre-designed utility for such astoundingly beautiful green blue irises. Hypnosis, maybe? The peach skin of her face was magnetic, the positive extremity attracting the negative one, his hand, to feel it, to confirm its silky realness. She inclined her face a little bit to the right and the corners of her mouth curled up a bit, a grin of genuine approval. She was enjoying the feeling of his rough skin against her milky one, and suddenly that moment felt like being frozen forever, immobilizing them both in that silent reverie so life could remain perfect. And it did, for a couple of seconds at least, before space-time continuum went on its course, and reality used her voice to suck him back from the reclusion of his wonder.

She stared at him inquisitively, patiently demanding an answer. Would it hurt to tell her the truth, just this once? House decided to take his chance. "You're breathtakingly beautiful, Dr. Cuddy." he stated plainly, without breaking eye contact, and beheld her lopsided smile flashing instantaneously, lighting up the whole room at once like a big white neon billboard in Vegas. That was it, damage was done, he could spot her ego inflating and menacing to take the whole apartment. In a dull try to minimize the havoc caused by his alien way-too-flattering compliment, House added, maybe a little too late "I guess that spell you cast back in Salem three centuries ago worked better than expected".

Ten seconds. That was exactly the amount of time House had dared to sneak out of his thick carapace, and for Cuddy it had been more than enough. Having him verbalizing his sentiments so spontaneously had just made her day, even though she had already read them with no difficulty, written as they were in capital letters in his intense ice blue gaze. The witch joke was even more amusing, and she could not help but guffaw wholeheartedly at the memory of Bette Midler in _Hocus Pocus _"I put a spell on yoooou, and now you're miiiiine…" she tried to sing but choked with laughter, causing House to burst out too, giving her another reason to treasure that moment. The sound of his earnest laughter was not a noise her ears – or anyone else's – were familiar with.

Some good calories burned on crack up later, the laughter died down and House was back to his usual inquisitive mode "Tell me, enchantress, why are you up and dressed to kill at 8 a.m. on a Saturday? I thought we had set up that _my_ ass was the only one that got to be kissed during the weekends." he inquired on a fake reproachful tone, supporting himself on his elbows to sit on the mattress. His hand flew to rest on his right thigh, rubbing it absentmindedly.

Cuddy's brows immediately furrowed in concern "Today's that brunch with Dr. Tilghman, the Trustees and the Council I told you about…" she trailed off, failing miserably on disguising her preoccupation "Are you alright? Do you want me to get you some Ibuprofen?"

Her excessive worry was unnerving, but House was gradually learning how to control his impulse to lash out at her overprotective behavior. Another rightful victim of her momism would be out in less than four months, ready to join Rachel and save daddy's ass. "I'm fine. I had forgotten you were meeting your boss today…"

Sweeping his eyes over her elegant and overly expensive outfit, House noted "Geez, if this dressing code applied to your employees as well, Wilson and I would have to take that part-time porn star job offer we declined a few years ago just to afford the brands. What's up with women and Italian surnames anyway?"

Cuddy grinned at House's second implicit woo of the day. The annual gathering with Princeton University governance used to be one of the most important – therefore stressful – social events of the year for so many reasons, fashion obviously included given the fact that she was a woman.

This year, however, far from feeling anxious about the gathering, Cuddy felt genuinely excited. She was radiant. Currently living the most blissful phase of her life carrying her little boy in her womb, Cuddy wanted the world to be aware of how far remained those "lonely, miserable and workaholic middle aged woman with no personal life" days. _She had it all now, and world could kiss her ass_. An afternoon shopping with Lucinda in Manhattan had granted her the armor she needed to face the lions' coven. She picked out an impeccable outfit, formal and neat as the Ivy League scholar environment demanded, which also made her feel gorgeous and serious and powerful. The second youngest Dean of Medicine, first female, hired under the age of 35…

And House could see it again, the lovely overconfident smile blooming in her face like a white tulip on a Dutch garden during the spring. It did not matter what unintended compliment slipped his big mouth today, the woman's ego was already a liability anyway, especially when she was wearing a 10-thousand-dollar outfit. He might as well indulge her and get his reward when she got back home later…

"How many?" House asked, trying to repay the favor and pull her back from her reverie like she had done with him moments before.

"How many what?" Cuddy wondered, oblivious as she was from House's previous rambling.

"How many Italian surnames are you wearing now?" House clarified, pointing at Cuddy and her Vanity-Fair-page-10 garments. He had absolutely no curiosity on finding that out, but the prospect of stripping every ridiculously costly piece of cloth and have her gloriously naked on top of him later was certainly worth the pointless asking. Nothing turned a woman on as bragging about an exclusive and unaffordable wardrobe.

"A few… A couple of French ones too." Cuddy answered smiling wickedly and saving herself the trouble of naming the brands that compounded her perfect look. House was hardly into fashion, except for the lingerie that he used to buy her every now and then – and he had an exquisite taste for that, she must admit – but that was obviously for his own benefit. He unquestionably had an agenda that justified the fake interest, but she was appreciating the effort. "Do you like it?" she inquired, standing up to give him a panoramic view of her self.

She looked fantastic. The ivory tailleur was classy, gracefully hugging her curves at the same time it conveniently hid her better assets, boobs and ass temptingly concealed, leaving a lot of room to a wild imagination. And those scarlet stilettos, she was definitely keeping them later… "Yeah, it's alright." House dismissed in forged disdain, feeling a soft friskiness emerge on his groin when his eyes acknowledged she was wearing stockings. _God, he loved stockings… Such a tease…_

The greed she saw navigating on baby blue told Cuddy everything she needed to know. House liked it, even though it was not tight or low-cut. "Alright? What happened to the 'breathtakingly beautiful' part?" she teased in mock indignation.

The Devil would forgive 167 soul debts before Cuddy forgot about House's chivalrous slip up. Was it really that important to her that he stated the obvious? Women are just odd. "You did get a kick out of that, didn't you?" He grinned and stretched his hand to reach for hers, bringing it to his lips and brushing small kisses on her knuckles. "You can reward me when you get your pear-shaped ass back from Princeton's modern version of cotton fields, you blue-eyed Jewish luxury slave…"

"Really? I was thinking about starting to reward you now with coffee, maybe some of the eggs, French toast and fruit salad I made to myself and couldn't eat it all but, if you prefer…" Cuddy purposefully triggered his hunger and tried to sound extra casual about the fact that she had made him breakfast. House was not exactly a fan of niceties.

"Aw, I see. You feed me now so you can suck all the energy out of my body later and be hot and young forever, right? I'm okay with that. How do you intend to do it? I can think of some good options…" House delivered another witch remark full of innuendo, causing Cuddy to giggle on her way to the kitchen. Predicting he would wake up absolutely ravenous as usual, she had already spared two thirds of the exaggerated amount of food and started setting everything on a tray.

Cuddy was pouring the steamy coffee on his favorite mug when she heard the Hanson's ring tong playing loudly somewhere in the living room. Scanning the room for it, she found House's cell phone in his wet trousers' pocket and hurried to give it to him, who had just put some boxers on and was brushing his teeth in the bathroom. She handed him his phone and left him alone to answer his call, walking back to the kitchen to finish up his breakfast.

Less than two minutes later, House was leaning against the kitchen's threshold, his former laid-back expression substituted by a defeated one. "It was Foreman. My patient just died."

Cuddy felt a light squeeze in her chest once she turned around to look at him and dove head first in the genuine grief that filled up his eyes. House's obsession with this case had grown out of the ordinary; that was first time he slept on his own bed in three days, and his pain had substantially increased. Before leaving PPTH the evening before, Cuddy had peeked into his conference room to observe him DDXing with his team and wondered whether this unusual commitment was simply for the puzzle-solving sake.

Now the hurt freely displayed on his gaze spoke loud and clear: he had gotten involved with this patient most likely for the resemblance she had with his recently adopted daughter. Cuddy had been a witness of how much House had been struggling to get over his fatherhood issues, how determined he was to be a good father for Rachel and Gabriel. The ghost of John House's abuse still haunted him, but little by little Rachel's affection along with Nolan's counseling got shake his isolation walls and he started to trust him self more around the kid.

And then, just as he was creating a soft spot in his heart for three-year-old girls, Katie Wilder entered his life like a devastating hurricane. For the first time in months – maybe years – Dr. Gregory House had dared to truthfully care about a patient who, ironically enough, he had not been able to save. _Because life is screwed up that way._

"Oh Greg, I'm so sorry." Cuddy earnestly lamented, walking towards him and cupping his stubble face in her tiny hands "I know how hard you've been working on this case but… There was really nothing to be done, right? I mean, all the differentials…" She started in a futile endeavor to comfort him as he immediately retreated and averted her apologetic gaze to stare at the floor.

"I did my job, I diagnosed her. I solved the puzzle." He stated a little bit too harshly, stopping her midsentence and furrowing his brows in annoyance. "I guess that should be enough, right? Knowing that I've done my best? Even if it sucks?"

House's disconcerting outburst dragged Cuddy to the dark place his mind had been inhabiting the last couple of days. The images of a little girl at the same age as their own wasting the last instants of her life lying on a hospital bed on an inutile strive for survival fired her pregnancy hormones, which added powerful misery effect to the mental motion picture. Her hand dropped from his face on a reflex, betraying tears invincibly filling her ocean eyes as her lips pursed in an attempt to keep them from rolling down her cheeks and ruining her makeup. Cuddy hated this, this alien sentiment of vulnerability that got the best of her when it came to her Rachel and all the horrible stuff that could happen regardless of her efforts to keep her safe and happy.

And now there was Gabe, the unlikely present she had been given by God, and by the man she loved. Six pregnancy tests, six pee sticks. All positive. Her facial muscles alternated between cry and smile when she decided to kept the tests for posterity under House's fake protests. Two days later, on the ultrasound, a frantically beating heart broke the silence in the room and changed their lives forever. House looked petrified at the scream for almost five minutes, absolutely mute, just to utter when everybody in the room started to fear he had gone catatonic "Your mom will castrate me if I don't marry you."

Four months later, House's _equipment_ was still attached and Cuddy's civil state remained the same, in spite of Arlene's marriage jihad. The Dean's finger was adorned with a very discrete and tasteful pink diamond ring and her closet and drawers had been invaded by a half of Nike Air collection and Rock in Rio amount of band t-shirts. Her belly was growing round and forth under a pair of big male hands that rested above it every night. Rachel's hopes for a little sister had perished two weeks before, just when "it" became "he", the "embryo" became a "fetus", the "baby" became "Gabriel". Gabriel James House.

Life was _very good, thank you_, but it was still life. It still sucked in so many levels. Meaningless fights at home, power struggles at the hospital, overprotective mother-in-law nagging, risky pregnancy, dusty skeletons stocked in the closet, emotionally demanding daughter, Vicodin missing, pain… Pain and all the shit that came with it. All the _callousness_. House watched Cuddy trying badly to restrain her weep and felt the urge to kick himself in the gut. So much for being inconspicuously gallant. How long had he made it, half an hour? His scorpion ass had nearly gotten to the other side of the river without piercing Cuddy's trusty frog back this morning, but it was merely a matter of time before his sneaky obliterating nature overruled him, and now they were both drowning in misery thanks to his stupidity. How could he ever make her understand that beasts like him needed to bleed alone, otherwise hurting others became inevitable?

Still trying to come up with something minimally decent to apologize to Cuddy, House noticed that the sophisticated close-fitting tailleur did very little to hide her baby bump, which was still discrete and purposefully showing off, much to her pride and delight, as well as his. The urge to touch the small rigid bulge immediately assaulted him, and before his mind could think of a random reason to restrain his impetus his hand had already moved to rest on her womb, tactile nerves alert to the slightest sign of movement. There was none. _Great, he had probably upset them_ _both…_ "Gabe is too quiet today, isn't he?" House pointed out, breaking the deafening silence that had been encrusting the room since his unexpected yelling moments ago.

Cuddy entwined her left hand in his and smiled weakly. "It's always like this during the mornings… I'm pretty sure he's inherited your aversion to waking up early, so I don't look forward to much action before 10." she explained, waiting a few more seconds before moving her other hand to his jaw and lifting it up so he could face her. His expression was calmer now. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine." He assured her, not putting much effort into being convincing. If his Wicca theory was accurate – and he did believe it might – witches are impossible to deceive, and he could tell she had long ago mastered the art of reading him like an open book. "You should go. None occurs to me now, but I bet there are some good jokes about Jews and punctuality."

Cuddy knew that was her cue to leave. He needed his space, and she would always respect that. He did not need to change, he had not. And she prayed everyday he would not. Letting go of his hand and fondling his cheek, she kissed him tenderly on the lips. "Enjoy your breakfast. I'm planning to have a Salem-fashioned energy-sucking afternoon when I get back." She uttered playfully before reaching for her Fendi and car keys and exiting the house.

The door snapped shut and the house was suddenly noiseless. No little feet tapping on the floor, no cartoon sounds coming from the TV. No giggles, no whining. No "_Daddy!_" Just silence, deafening silence. The same silence that will envelop the Wilder residence from now, since little Katie was an only child.

The same virtual knife was back inside House's damaged quadriceps, causing him to grimace while limping painfully to the couch. His back hit the cushioned surface and he stretched his right leg slowly while his right hand flipped his cell phone open and browsed through the phone list. Pressed on the green button, he brought the device to his ear, and awaited anxiously until a known female voice spoke on the other end "Lucinda? Is Rachel up yet?"

"_**Well I looked my demons in the eyes **_

_**Laid bared my chest and said 'Do your best, destroy me!'**_

'_**See, I've been to hell and back so many times I must admit you kind of bore me…'**_

_**There's a lot of things that can kill a man**_

_**There's a lot of ways to die**_

_**Yes, and some already did and walk beside me**_

_**There's a lot of things I don't understand**_

_**Why so many people lie?**_

_**Is the hurt I hide that fuels the fire inside me?**_

_**Will I always feel this way?**_

_**So empty, so estranged…"**_

_**Reviews are love, especially the long, thoughtful, positive ones... LOL! Just kidding. Speak your mind if you feel like it and make us both happy. :D**_


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